


fear aggression

by sunbrights



Category: Super Dangan Ronpa 2
Genre: F/M, Fluff, literal and metaphorical
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-20
Updated: 2016-12-20
Packaged: 2018-09-10 00:15:40
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,909
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8919067
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sunbrights/pseuds/sunbrights
Summary: They’re eight the first time his dog snaps at her.





	

They’re eight the first time his dog snaps at her. 

Taro is only a few months old himself, but with his full winter coat he’s already almost as big as Fuyuhiko. He’d been the biggest and most rambunctious pup of a prized Akita litter, hand-selected by Fuyuhiko’s parents as a birthday gift. The clan has always kept dogs, hounds for hunting and for security, but Taro was never intended to be another of the clan’s dogs. “He is yours,” his father had told him, in no uncertain terms. “Your partner, and your responsibility.”

At the time, he’d been sure he understood. It was a shot straight from all his favorite films, the proud kumichō with a loyal, ferocious hound by his side. 

(It’s not until years later that he realizes he didn’t understand shit. The blow is softened by the simultaneous realization that his father didn’t understand shit, either.)

It happens one day when they’re out in the courtyards, expending kid energy and puppy energy at the same time by chasing each other in circles around the garden. Peko doesn’t come out and run with them, but watches from the deck instead, hands folded in her lap and shinai laid out by her feet. She’s been quieter in recent months, but Fuyuhiko doesn’t mind. She doesn’t have to talk if she doesn’t want to.

Whatever competition he and Taro are having, Fuyuhiko is pretty sure he loses. He’s man enough to admit to that, even if he's only eight. Especially then. The deck is surrender, and he’s the first one to flop back on it, arms spread wide while he catches his breath. It’s too cold out to keep running for that long, and Taro has more legs than he does anyway, so.

He hears leaves rustling and branches snapping, and he doesn’t even bother sitting up to shout, “Don’t get stuck in the bushes, stupid!” at the deck’s overhang.

“He saw a bird,” Peko says from behind him, and he tilts his head backwards against the deck to look at her. She’s still sitting tall and proper, with her hands in her lap, but she’s risen up on her knees just a little to get a better view. “It flew away. I don’t know if he knows.”

He doesn’t. It’s another ten minutes before Taro tires himself out, too, and he flops down on the ground by Fuyuhiko’s feet, chest heaving and tongue lolling. Fuyuhiko leans down to give him a treat and rub his head; when he looks up, Peko has scooted closer to the edge of the deck, watching Taro with big eyes and a little smile. Her fingers are twisted together like she’s trying to keep herself from reaching out.

He doesn’t know why she’d do that, though. He tries to help her along: “D’you want to pet him?”

Her eyes flick to his face. She nods, but keeps her hands folded in her lap.

“It’s fine,” he tells her. He ruffles the fur around Taro’s scruff to demonstrate, and Taro lifts his head to lick him on the chin. “He likes it. See?”

And at first, it is fine. Taro is calm and happy— up until the moment Peko reaches her hand out to scratch his head. Fuyuhiko isn’t even looking when Taro’s ears suddenly go flat, and his teeth flash out at her fingers.

Peko’s hand jumps back. Her reflexes are too fast for Taro to ever have had a chance at drawing blood, but her eyes flinch and her mouth goes slack and unhappy, which is almost as bad. Fuyuhiko knows that there’s a proper way he’s supposed to train Taro not to snap at other people, but in the moment he forgets what it is. Is he supposed to hold his mouth shut? Take away his dinner? Lock him back in the crate? 

Peko looks down at her hands, rubbing her thumb into her palm, and all Fuyuhiko can think to do is wag his finger in front of Taro’s nose. _No. Wrong. Peko is good. We don’t hurt Peko._

“It’s fine,” Peko says. But it isn’t.

*

He’s serious about Taro’s training after that. He gets the clicker and the jar of treats and everything. Taro learns to sit, stay, heel, and to only do his business when he’s supposed to. He stops barking in the house, stays calm around other dogs, and, most importantly, he doesn’t snap at Peko (or anyone else) ever again.

But he still won’t let her pet him.

She tries, sometimes, in all sorts of ways. She crouches down to his level, and only comes up to him when he’s sleepy or happy. She approaches from the front and from the side, sometimes painstakingly slowly and other times quickly, when he isn’t looking. But no matter what she does, she never quite makes it: at best, he growls until Peko takes enough steps back to make him feel comfortable again; at worst, he runs away, ducking into his crate or under the deck or behind Fuyuhiko’s legs. It only gets worse the older they get, and eventually Peko stops trying.

Fuyuhiko doesn’t, though.

When they’re twelve, he tries to use training to get Taro more comfortable with having Peko around. He doesn’t tell her what he’s doing at first, because at first he doesn’t need to. It’s easy enough to get through the first few steps. When Peko is in the same room, click. When she’s standing a few feet away, click. When she makes eye contact, click. 

Except now they’re at the most important part— Peko leaning down to touch him without him running away— and as it turns out, that’s not one that happens on accident, or at all, ever.

It’s not like he meant to keep it a secret from her. He just couldn’t figure out a way to say it that didn’t sound weird, so he didn’t bother as long as he didn’t have to. He has the perfect opportunity to do it now (Taro lying patiently by his feet while he does his homework, and Peko reading on the other side of the table), but trying to come up with the explanation in the moment has made him realize that it sounds even weirder now that he’s three quarters of the way in.

Whatever. He can figure it out as he goes.

“Hey, Peko.” She lifts her head to look at him. Taro does, too. Their combined scrutiny makes him fidget in his seat. “Come over here.”

She doesn’t ask why, because of course she doesn’t; she just does as he says. She sets her place in her book and steps around the table. “Yes, young master?”

No, that’s not close enough. He thinks about telling her something else, because there’s no way this won’t be weird now, but— no. This is important. He tries again, points to a spot near his feet. “C’mon. Over _here._ ”

She doesn’t understand; he can tell by the little line that shows up between her eyebrows. But, still, she does it anyway, and still doesn’t even ask why. “Yes?”

Fuyuhiko looks down. Taro’s ears are at attention, eyes fixed on Peko’s knees, but he isn’t growling or whining, and he hasn’t run away. Good enough. Fuyuhiko presses the clicker button in his pocket, and leans down to let Taro lick the treat from his palm.

The line between Peko’s eyebrows gets deeper. “Young master?”

“What?” He focuses on praising Taro for behaving correctly, scratching him behind the ears and under his chin. Technically, the treat is enough, but this is important, all right? Also, he knows what kind of face Peko must be making right now, and he doesn’t want to see it. “I’m training him. He’s my dog, he needs to toughen up.”

Taro licks his nose, and it makes him sneeze.

“Taro is very well-trained, young master,” Peko says, like rote. “I don’t know what more—”

“Just hold your hand out, okay?”

She’s quiet for so long that eventually he has to look at her. When he does, she’s looking at her hands, right thumb pressed into her left palm.

Crap, he should have planned this.

“Look. The two of you are supposed to be on my side all the time, right?” Peko nods. He waits for her to say something, and when she doesn’t, he just keeps going. “ _So_ it’s about time he grows up and learns to get along with you. You should be able to pat him on the friggin’ head without him freaking out.”

He waits again. When he gets tired of waiting, he makes himself keep waiting. He isn’t going to mess this up this time.

Eventually she says, “Yes, young master,” and maybe that’s the best he should have been hoping for.

She holds her hand out, and it’s like a boundary being crossed. Before Fuyuhiko can even think to react, Taro’s nails are clattering against the fine wood flooring of the study in his scramble to back away. With Peko between him and the exit, Taro goes for the next best escape route: he wedges himself beneath the table, ears flat and tail tucked between his legs.

Peko didn’t touch him. She didn’t even _try._

She hasn’t flinched in years, but Fuyuhiko sees the way her fingers curl back in towards her palm. 

He sticks his head under the table. “Hey! She isn’t even trying to pet you, dumbass. Can you calm down for one second?”

Taro whines at him.

“Yeah, I’m talking to you.”

“Maybe…” Peko draws her hand back, folds her arms against her stomach. “... I shouldn’t force him to do something that scares him.”

“But that’s stupid,” Fuyuhiko shoots back. He nearly bangs his head on the edge of the table sitting up to glare at her. “He shouldn’t _be_ scared of you.” 

Peko doesn’t have an answer for that. But Taro is tense up until the moment she excuses herself from the study, and even after that he stays under the table, lays his head on Fuyuhiko’s feet, and looks up at him with big, worried eyes.

“You baby,” Fuyuhiko mutters down at him.

Taro whines. Fuyuhiko shuffles his feet out from under his big head.

*

When they’re sixteen, he has one last, stupid idea.

(He gets it from Tanaka, after he coaxes one of his hamsters into allowing Peko to stroke its head. It only lasts about half a second, and after that the little rat hides in Tanaka’s collar for the rest of the class, but for that half second Peko had made a face that Fuyuhiko hadn’t seen in literal years: the same little smile from back when they were children and neither of them understood yet why the dogs were scared of her.) 

Taro is older now, and mellower. He sprawls out in front of the hearth with his head in Fuyuhiko’s lap, content to skip hours of throwing a ball back and forth and go straight to soaking up attention before dinner. Peko is standing at the door, on informal guard duty. Her eyes are closed, but he’s not stupid enough to think she’s not focused on everything that’s happening in the room right now.

“Peko.” Her eyes snap open to look at him. She’s not even startled. He wonders how long she knew he was gearing up to say something, and then decides he doesn’t want to know. “Will you come here for a sec?”

Peko looks at Taro, and then back at him. “You don’t have to if you don’t want to,” he clarifies, because he knows what’s she’s thinking, and he also knows that she’s not going to say it. “I just had an idea. If it doesn’t work that’ll be the end of it, okay?”

It takes a second, but eventually she nods (a hesitant, half-formed one, which he prefers to the quick, crisp ones he usually gets when he asks her to do things, because at least that means she considered not doing it) and stoops to kneel beside him, slow and careful. One of Taro’s ears swivels in her direction, and he snuffles against Fuyuhiko’s knee, but other than that he doesn’t seem ready to bolt just yet.

(Tanaka had said that the key wasn’t making his hamsters trust Peko, it was about making sure they trusted _him_ enough to keep them safe while Peko was there.

Fuyuhiko thinks that's what he said, at least. He’s seventy-five percent sure. The logic is sound, anyway, and it’s too late for him to back out now.)

“All right.” Fuyuhiko rubs the base of one of Taro’s ears, just in case. He whuffs comfortably. “So, remember that time Tanaka’s rat let you pet him for a second?”

“Cham-P.”

“Right, whatever. I was thinking, maybe it’d be easier on Taro if we both pet him at the same time.” 

“At the same time?”

She’s going to make him spell it out, isn’t she. He’s come a long way, but not that far. He holds his right hand out instead, palm down and fingers spread. “Just- just go like this. It’ll make sense.” 

Peko watches Taro’s ears for a few long seconds, and then she copies him, left hand held out, palm down. “Like this?”

“Yeah.” He swallows. In retrospect, he doesn’t know why he thought any sort of logic from Tanaka would be sound. This might be the dumbest thing he’s ever done in his life. “Okay. So then if I….” He hesitates, and then sort of… bumps the back of his hand against her palm, so that her fingers fit in the spaces between his.

It isn’t hand-holding, but it is very, very, _very_ close.

Her fingers are fucking freezing.

Shit, this better work.

Peko has gone so still beside him that he thinks he probably wouldn’t know she was there if he weren’t basically holding her hand. In his peripheral vision he can see how her eyes have narrowed with an intensity she usually reserves for the kendo ring, and how the tips of her ears have gone faintly pink. He thinks she’s even stopped breathing.

He lays their hands down against the broad side of Taro’s belly, his palm first with her fingers snuck between the gaps. But whatever it is about Peko that animals pick up on, apparently his hand alone isn’t enough to cover it up; Taro’s head shoots up as soon as her fingers touch his fur, ears tall and nose quivering. Fuyuhiko feels Peko’s hand tense up against his, and before she can pull away he snaps, “Hey! Chill out,” at the both of them.

“Young master, I don’t know if—”

“Shut up.” Fuyuhiko scratches under Taro’s chin with his other hand, encouraging him to focus on him and not Peko. This is gonna work. He’ll make this work. Taro licks at his face, and his tail flops back and forth sluggishly, like he can’t decide whether to be anxious or excited. “Look, buddy. It’s me, right? Just me and Peko. So chill out, okay? It’s gonna be fine. I got it.”

_Calm_ might be a strong word to describe Taro after that. But he doesn’t whine, he doesn’t snap, and he doesn’t run, and Fuyuhiko takes advantage of the opportunity while he has it. He pets him, cautiously, and drags Peko’s hand along with his.

After a few seconds without Taro panicking or crying, he feels Peko start to relax, too. She presses her hand more firmly over his ( _so that she can pet Taro better_ ), and at one point even chances a scratch at Taro’s belly. He takes back his comparison from before; it’s not like her kendo intensity at all. Even just watching her from the corner of his eye, this might be the most enthralled he’s ever seen her.

Eventually, Taro gets tired of it. He wriggles out of Fuyuhiko’s lap, and Fuyuhiko lets him go when he does. (The relationship can’t be forced, Tanaka had said, after Fuyuhiko complained that his rat was still hiding from Peko after everything. Probably that’s what he said, anyway. The point is, Taro lasted almost a full minute to the little rat's half-second.) 

Peko’s hand draws back from his, and he presses his palms against his knees. “Well?”

“He is…” She searches for the right word, and when she finds it— there. That smile, small and shy, but endeared. He knew it was still there, even if it was buried under eight years of bullshit. “Soft.”

“Softer than he looks, right?” He shouldn’t be so fucking proud to get such a small expression out of someone, but there it is. He feels himself smiling too, broad and unrestrained, and he doesn’t even care. “It’s that fancy ass dog shampoo Natsumi keeps buying. Don’t tell her I said that. It makes him smell like lavender, too.”

“I won’t,” she says, and the firelight catches orange and gold in her hair when she turns her smile on him. If he feels warm, it’s because it’s way too early in the season for a fire, almost definitely. “Thank you.”

He has a whole slew ideas of what to say to that, all at the same time. Then they get tangled up in each other somewhere between his chest and his mouth, and all that ends up coming out is something he’s pretty sure isn’t any kind of word in any kind of language, half-muttered under his breath.

Peko doesn’t mind.


End file.
